


Biweekly Log 02

by stephanericher



Series: Drabbles [5]
Category: Free!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Tokyo Ghoul, 弱虫ペダル | Yowamushi Pedal, 月刊少女野崎くん | Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun, 残響のテロル | Zankyou no Terror | Terror in Resonance
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>39 Drabbles published between 9/1/14 and 9/13/14 on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biweekly Log 02

1\. Pretty Car (Nebuya Eikichi/Mibuchi Reo)

Reo likes slick, fast cars, not like F1 cars but street cars with nice paint jobs and sleek exteriors that drive smoother than syrup. Eikichi drives a 2001 Subaru with a finicky transmission that he bought for cheap (and even then it was probably twice what the damn thing was worth) but it gets him where he’s going most of the time and that’s what matters; even if he’s got to turn the wheel extra and press the gas pedal harder than he should it still works. Reo gives him shit about it but it’s not like he ever drives anyway; he takes the train everywhere or lets Eikichi drive him (not without a customary handful of complaints about the state of the Subaru, of course). It’s funny, though; whenever Eikichi floats by the idea of maybe getting a new car (well, as new as he can afford) Reo finds some reason to veto it, each more flimsy than the last—it occurs to Eikichi when they’re driving back home from a trip out to the suburbs that Reo is more attached to the car than he is, loves it more, has his own entirely sentimental reasons for wanting to keep it. Why he won’t admit it (it’s a fucking car; liking it isn’t shameful at all) Eikichi doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care to find out. Although it’s kind of cute in a way—when they stop at a red light he leans over and kisses Reo on the cheek; the resulting lengthy demand for an explanation is totally worth it.

* * *

2\. Teenagers (Nine/Twelve)

They’re a little bit too old for this, even if they can still pass for high-schoolers, a little too old to pretend they can’t control themselves like hormonal teenagers (hell, even when they were teenagers their lives rested too much on the promises of pinpoint control, of the illusion of the loss of such thing that was crafted too intricately, a contradiction no one looked closely enough to find) but they do it anyway, grasping too hard at each other’s clothes and kissing too harshly, too fiercely (their teeth clack against each other awkwardly and they run out of breath too soon) until their heads are spinning but this is the closest they’re going to get to uncalculated risk because they crunch the numbers on dying every time they cross the street but this is so fast and furious that they forget to calculate it, can’t do anything at all.

* * *

3\. Under the Rain (Wakamatsu Kousuke, Nijimura Shuuzou)

Wakamatsu swears under his breath; this is the third time this week it’s rained and the third time this week he’s forgotten his umbrella and this is not the way he wanted his college career to start. The air is filled with the heaviness of the rain whipping through the air and smacking in drops like little bodies against the pavement. He tries to kick one but it merely lands on the toe of his sneaker instead; it’s a foolish idea anyway.

“Yo. You headed to the train station?”

A guy, appearance somewhat familiar (his lip is curled familiar and Wakamatsu would definitely remember that; wouldn’t he?) and around his height—no, shit, he’s standing below the curb, taller than him—holds out a black umbrella that looks wide enough for both of them.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He ducks under; the sound of the rain is a little bit more pleasant bouncing off the fabric.

“I’m Nijimura, by the way,” the guy says.

It’s not until they’re at the station that he puts two and two together, remembers the guy who even in middle school was two steps ahead, energetic and relentless (even more than the other Teikou kids), who drove by him on both sides and almost right through him, and he almost drops the umbrella. Nijimura laughs but it’s not unkind or bitter—perhaps college isn’t really that unbearable after all.

* * *

 

4\. Would Have (Yomo Renji/Uta)

There are a few topics that make Renji go cold fast like a cup of coffee left too close to the air conditioning unit on a hot summer morning. One of them is his sister; even if the subject is breached carefully he clams up; even when he talks about her the words are measured out carefully and it’s probably best that Uta is usually not the one to mention her first.

“You know,” says Renji, turning over Uta’s hand in his palm, examining the lines as if to read something in them. “She would have liked you. My sister.”

He traces something in the center of Uta’s palm with his thumb; it tickles. Coming from Renji this must be high praise indeed—Uta reaches out with his free hand to pat Renji’s knee. He looks up, and when his eyes meet Uta’s smile he smiles back—brief, subdued, but a smile nonetheless.

* * *

 

5\. Mess (Nijimura Shuuzou/Ishida Hideki)

This is a mess, all of it, and it’s been like this from the beginning (the one who introduced them was Haizaki, after all, and it wasn’t the most romantic of meetings). The distance between them is so large that even when they’re together (even when they’re on the same continent, in the same country) it seems almost immeasurably long; even when Ishida is right across from him at the breakfast table it’s like Nijimura almost can’t reach over and touch him, that he’s afraid he’ll turn into a hologram.

It’s like their troubles are magnified and pushing them apart, like the world is preoccupying them as a means of forcing them away from each other. And no matter how stubbornly they promise to make things work, how much Ishida believes in fairness and that as long as he loves as hard as he can everything will be all right, how many frequent flyer miles Nijimura racks up, there will be no way of knowing this can last. And yet, what’s the use of not trying? Either they’ll fall off the crumbling cliff or they’ll jump together, and when it’s put like that the choice is simple.

“I love you,” Ishida says, reaching a hand across the table.

Nijimura clasp Ishida’s hand between both of his—it doesn’t matter if the coffee gets cold. “I love you, too.”

And that’s the parachute.

* * *

 

6\. Red (Twelve, Nine)

The first time he saw Nine bleed he almost cried. It was a paper cut, not very deep, but the red ooze contrasted sharply with the blue of his cry of pain and he didn’t like it at all. It reverberated somewhere within him and he didn’t know what to do, how to respond—he’d been taught to bandage his own cut fingers but he usually didn’t say anything, even a wordless sort of cry (and even then the color of his own words was so innocuous and he was so used to them that it wouldn’t make a difference). Nine notices, of course; he looks fearfully at Twelve’s eyes and that is enough for Twelve to be grounded once more and to hurry off and ask for a bandage.

* * *

 

7\. New (Kobori Kouji/Kasamatsu Yukio)

There isn’t much about this apartment that’s new; the plaster in the kitchen is peeling and the plumbing is ancient and there aren’t enough electrical outlets but it’s theirs, and they’ll make do for now—it’s only a temporary stop on the way up in the world (they’ve promised each other that much).

And yet, as Kobori picks a squawking Kasamatsu up and sets him on the counter, silences him with a kiss, steadies himself on a stack of boxes—it’ll probably be hard to leave here someday, this first place of their own; Kasamatsu will look stoic and he himself won’t cry but they’ll curl their fingers more tightly together, lock them closer than they’re locked even right now.

* * *

 

8\. Nowhere (Five/Clarence)

Much of their work is waiting, and they might as well be nowhere (or everywhere)—hands tap the edges of laptops; Clarence makes semi-useless phone calls (well, they’re as useful as this bureaucratic stuff ever gets, if she is to make a concession here) and she thinks about how her nails are getting chipped again.

His voice dies off; without looking she can tell from the rustle of that stiff suit material that he’s putting away his phone. She waits a little more, curling her fingers around the edge of the table, hiding the flawed nails from her sight.

“Clarence?”

He recognizes the meaning in her voice, gets up slowly and crosses the room until he’s practically looming over her, casting a dark shadow on her lap with the chandelier behind his head like that. She stands, not bothering to smooth down her skirt and shoving the laptop to the side, and then hops onto the table where she can look up at his face from a better angle and where she can reach his shoulders.

The suit material scratches her palms so she slides her hands behind his neck, rubbing just under his hairline. He’s been trained to stay stiff but she knows his weak points all too well and he knows better than to withhold his softening expression from her for too long.

* * *

 

9\. Hanamiya Makoto/Hayama Kotarou teacher/single parent AU for unlikehisname

“Ryuunosuke-kun is a very bright boy.”

Of course he is. Makoto didn’t pay the nanny to watch his son tonight (and miss out on what little time they have together) so he could listen to stuff he already knows—as easy on the eyes as this teacher is (and he isn’t all that hot, really) it’s not worth it.

“But he has trouble using his words to socialize with the other children sometimes.”

This is to be expected. Makoto raises an eyebrow. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, community begins at home,” he chirps. “You should encourage him to use words when he wants something and praise him when he does.”

“My son is not a dog.”

“No, but that’s the way kids learn.”

He is too perky and Makoto wants to rip that smile right off his face—not with anything like his own mouth on top of it of course. He doesn’t want to get anywhere near those snaggleteeth, doesn’t want those bony hands tangled in his hair, that constant twitching a vibration against him.

“Is that all?” Makoto says.

Hayama leans forward on the table.

* * *

 

10\. Hanamiya Makoto/Hara Kazuya boss/intern AU for unlikehisname

That’s the third time today Hara’s broken something, a shitty paperweight that was a freebie from a manufacturing company—Hanamiya never even wanted it but it still kind of pisses him off because it’s Hara who broke it and he definitely did it on purpose. He’s certainly succeeded in being the only one of those otherwise-interchangeable interns to get Hanamiya’s attention, though.

“I should fire you.”

“You’re not going to, though,” says Hara, sitting on the desk and leaning backward, scattering meticulously-organized papers across the surface and over the floor. He’s chewing gum again, too; Hanamiya can smell the saccharine artificial grape flavor; it almost makes him gag.

“Get rid of that bubble gum; it smells disgusting.”

“Will you kiss me if I do?”

Hanamiya huffs and looks intently down at the piece of paper in front of him.

“Oh, and send in the secretary to clean—” As he looks up, Hara’s lips descend onto his.

* * *

 

11\. Kagami Taiga/Momoi Satsuki, prostitute/client AU for kachimatsu

She reserves him for double slots sometimes, tips him extra afterward when all they end up doing is talking—about friends, basketball, life in general. She finds him amusing but not in the way his middle-aged clients do, like he’s some sort of precious freak show; she treats him like a human but carefully walks the borderline between professionalism and something else.

Sometimes he forgets, though; even though she’s paying him and even though they’re in the afterglow of more-than-decent sex and he has been here with many other women, is here with other women more than he is with her, he forgets because he lets himself, because he wants it so badly to be real. He wants a real friend, someone he can spill his heart to the way he sometimes does to her (but only so much before he remembers; he wants to not have to remember) and to whom he can talk about anything, and more than a friend (but now he’s getting too greedy, isn’t he?) someone who will take his heart when he offers it—but really he doesn’t want any abstract someone. He wants her, for real, for more than a few hours at a time; he doesn’t want to take her money.

But she keeps her watch tuned to the end time, kisses him goodbye on the forehead every time and leaves the bills on the table and when he can no longer hear the fading clack of her heels in the hall he turns over and buries his head in the shabby pillow.

* * *

 

12\. Nine/Shibazaki Kenjirou, meeting in the ER AU for risquetendencies

The bone is sticking out through his skin but he’s not an urgent case; the parents make their children avert their eyes but one kid’s here without an adult, alone just like him—maybe he’s a bit too old for parents and maybe he never had them in the first place. He’s got that air about him, the lonely, independent-by-necessity type of look, the one that Shibazaki carried as a young man and still probably does. It’s hard to shake a shell that thick and heavy.

And holy fuck does he have a burn, a gigantic welt all down his left arm that looks like it’s about to burst. It might be first-degree but it’s huge. And he’s doing a crossword puzzle like his arm is barely bothering him at all, not even clenching his fist.

The kid’s eyes flicker to Shibazaki’s; he’s caught him staring but Shibazaki doesn’t avert his eyes. They stare. The kid’s got a nice face, angular and unhappy but not bad to look at. Finally, Shibazaki inclines his head.

“I’m a crossword aficionado myself.”

The kid raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Then would you happen to know this one?”

He points to a clue. Shibazaki leans over, conscious of both of their injured limbs. Odd, even though the hospital smells of blood and disinfectant the kid smells (quite nicely) of curry and strawberry shampoo. And then Shibazaki realizes that he hasn’t read the clue at all.

* * *

 

13\. Mibuchi Reo/Kasamatsu Yukio, miserable people meeting at a wedding AU for cimberelly

Kobori’s happy; there’s no doubt about it. His eyes are shining brilliantly and barely looking away from his new wife, picture-perfect in her gown and shoes and she fits perfectly in his arms, her body flush against his. Kasamatsu feels like he might just be sick (Moriyama had, in between unsuccessfully flirting with one bridesmaid and another, told him that he’s stupid for staying this long and Kasamatsu had kicked him under the table) and drinking shouldn’t help with that but he takes another sip from the bottle anyway.

The bartender looks like he’s seen this kind of thing a lot; he probably has—Kasamatsu’s nowhere close to special in his pain.

“Excuse me.” A soft, husky voice.

He has to swivel in both direction several times before he sees the source, a slim man in a tuxedo with eyelashes a hell of a lot longer than anyone’s ought to be.

“Might I be of assistance?”

He looks like some kind of artificially lonely thing, something Kasamatsu can’t quite piece together in his mind. He wants to swear at the guy or punch him out, but what’s the use? How could he help, anyway? He’s no Kobori.

“Or could you possibly assist me?”

He’s still talking?

“I’m feeling lonely tonight,” he says, biting his lip—hell if he isn’t pretty.

Maybe he wants an easy fuck and is just some kind of weird kinky depraved person, or maybe he really is lonely and Kasamatsu’s too drunk to trust. It doesn’t matter either way.

“Yeah,” he says, covering the man’s thigh with his hand. “Yeah.”

* * *

 

14\. Kise Ryouta/Midorima Shintarou, going to war AU for risquetendencies

“Ryouta.”

He does not want the last time he sees Shintarou—or the last in a very long time, at least—to be like this, both of their eyes blurred by tears in the dim early morning outside his apartment, Shintarou looking still proud and very perfect in his military uniform. He doesn’t want to dry his tears on the perfect material and yet he does, wants to soak Shintarou’s shoulder until it dissolves so he can stay home, where even if it’s not safe (nothing’s happened yet but it doesn’t feel safe, a dangerous kind of atmosphere in the air, some sort of eerie foreboding) they’re still together; even though they could die at any minute they’ll know. He’d rather die together, selfish as it is, than be apart for this long—weeks, months, longer?

Shintarou pulls him into an embrace and Ryouta sobs, burying his face in the mothball smell of Shintarou’s jacket, messing it up anyway—Shintarou should be scolding him, has been scolding him about it since it arrived, but today he doesn’t seem to care.

“I’ll mess up your jacket. The officers will get mad,” Ryouta sobs.

“I don’t care,” says Shintarou—a lie, a bad one, but he will lie for Ryouta like a trampled welcome mat any day, every day.

Ryouta sobs harder and Shintarou hugs him tighter, warm body surrounding Ryouta like a skin-tight case.

“You’ll be late.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No!” He shouts it, feels it reverberate in the air; he’s getting hysterical now but he absolutely doesn’t care—but if Shintarou doesn’t leave soon he’ll never be able to physically let go.

Ryouta pulls back, dropping his hands to meet Shintarou’s.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Another lie (Ryouta’s eyes burn).

Their eyes meet; Shintarou raises Ryouta’s hands to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

“Wait for me?”

He doesn’t have to ask. Ryouta pulls him forward into a kiss—he’s going to miss that mouth, every part of him, so very much.

“Always.” (It’s a miracle his voice doesn’t crack.)

* * *

 

15\. Twelve/Nine, cop giving someone a speeding ticket AU for anon

It’s remarkable how many people speed even in this area; most of them are rich kids who don’t seem to care but some of them are ordinary people and some of them ought to have noticed that they’ve been tightening up the patrols lately.

This time it’s a guy on a motorcycle—what the hell he’s doing out on the highway at this kind of speed in only a light sweater Nine doesn’t know but it’s none of his business as long that the guy pays his ticket.

They pull over and Nine hops out, leaving his partner in the car on lookout duty. The guy on the motorcycle takes of his helmet and it’s like some kind of teen movie the way his hair moves in the wind and he grins—he’s very, very cute. A sight for sore eyes, actually; the highway is bleak and most of the people who get pulled over are markedly unattractive (it makes Nine wonder if there’s some sort of link between attractiveness and good driving sometimes when he’s bored, which is often).

“Hello, officer.”

“Sir, are you aware there is a speed limit on this highway?”

“Oh, very,” he says, flashing his teeth.

“You’re not going to get out of this on your looks,” says Nine.

“You think I’m cute?”

“You think you’re cute.”

He laughs.

“So I take it you don’t know there’s a speed limit?”

He shrugs. “I have places to go, people to see.”

“So does everyone else, and they manage just fine under the limit.”

Nine finishes writing the ticket. “Can I see your license?”

He digs a leather wallet out of his pants pocket and pulls out a well-worn motorcycle license. It looks okay (although it’s a bit rough around the edges; it might be fake—but it’s not worth the extra time).

“Do you want my phone number, too?” says the guy (Hisami, according to the license).

Nine ignores the remark. He tears off the ticket and gives it and the license back to Hisami, but before he can turn away Hisami presses a piece of paper into his hand.

“Call me.”

“I will if you don’t pay the ticket on time,” says Nine (he keeps the slip of paper in his chest pocket anyway. Just in case.)

* * *

 

16\. Ryuugazaki Rei/Matsuoka Gou, pregnant after a one-night stand AU for didsw

Without Rei, she’d be—well, okay, strictly speaking without Rei and his condom-neutralizing sperm she wouldn’t be pregnant in the first place but she is but the fact remains that he most definitely knocked her up—without Rei, she’d definitely be a lot worse off throughout the process. He works these ridiculous hours (and Nagisa had told her that he was doing that now so he’d have some leniency once the baby was actually born) and yet he still has time to cook for her when she’s too nauseous and read all the pregnancy books cover-to-cover (although she’d expect no less of him) and explained the stuff from the jargon-filled scientific books he’d found in the archives at work to her and was excited about even the gross stuff.

The online pregnancy forum she frequents includes sections about “not grossing out your man” and while some of it does make her squeamish (and she’s always thought of babies as kind of gross no matter how cute they are), it’s still a fact of life. And she feels more than a small swell of pride that her man (can she really call him that?) doesn’t mind at all.

He rubs her swollen feet and makes her tea and holds her hand and tells her she looks beautiful when she feels terrible and he’s so honest and sincere about it that she can’t help but believe him a little bit and fall for him a little bit more.

It’s hard to hold back with so many things on her plate and patience worn down like dirt road under the same tire treads six times a day so she gives in and kisses him when they’re relaxing on the couch (and the last time she’d kissed him was that night, as they both very well know) and he looks at her all flustered and cute like the way he looked their first year of high school when he was trying so desperately to learn some new swimming technique and she really wants to kiss him again but she  restrains herself this time. His eyes search hers—for lust, perhaps, or teasing, but there’s nothing in the books about this and he is completely unprepared but she meets his gaze and squeezes his hand, not trusting herself to say anything right now.

He breathes her name and she nods.

“I really want to do this…with you. Together. I want to give it a try.”

Her words don’t begin to capture it, like a volcano still buried inside her and filled with magma but it’s enough for even a dense guy like him to understand (and to be fair, he’s gotten a lot more subtle as they’ve grown up). And she can see in his eyes that he wants this, too; he wants this but he’d never bring it up to her because he’s Rei (and even with that vexing part of his personality she would still attest that he’s been, that he is, more than wonderful).

* * *

 

17\. Hori/Kashima, soulmates AU for didsw

There’s something about her, some sort of feeling in his chest, when he’s distracting her from messing up the sets and interfering with the rest of rehearsal (how the fuck does she do it just by existing?) and they’re sitting together and she’s ribbing him and she looks at him like that, knees tucked up to her chest, and something inside of him bursts like a gigantic geyser (sometimes he reaches out to touch his face to make sure it didn’t actually happen). And sometimes when they’re walking and she’s not stopping to flirt with some random girl or shirk her responsibilities and he doesn’t have to yell at her, he feels this odd sensation like being high but not, like talking with her about random shit is the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

(And then she runs off to make a mess of things and he has to bail her out and kick her ass again. But it’s more than worth it.)

* * *

 

18\. Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou/Kise Ryouta, lab partners AU for didsw

Aomine strolls into class right before the bell, deflecting a glare from their teacher as he makes his way over to the lab station. Midorima already looks pissed off and Kise already looks unhappy.

“I’m sorry, Midorimacchi. I forgot and I had work last night and I was so tired when I got home—”

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t have a prelab. I suppose you didn’t forget and think it was your turn?” He looks at Aomine.

Midorima does the prelab when it’s Aomine’s turn anyway because he knows Aomine won’t; thinking that Aomine might have done it at any point is more than kind of ridiculous. Midorima’s grip tightens around the test tube.

“Fine.”

The first half of the lab goes okay; Aomine spends a long time at the sink watching his classmates pour their failed solutions down the drain and pretending to be busy with the taps. Midorima’s already in a bad mood and he doesn’t really feel like dealing with it, even if it’s not Kise’s fault he’s so dumb.

That’s the topic Midorima’s landed on today; when Aomine returns Kise is pouting and trying to take notes and Midorima focuses his gaze on Aomine properly.

“And you, you don’t even have the excuse of being stupid. If you just tried even a little bit you’d be able to get a good enough grade. All we need for this lab is a passing grade.” He continues; it’s probably the same speech as always but damn he’s got nice plump lips and that jaw moves so fast and Aomine’s thinking about how nice that mouth probably tastes (like mint, probably; he seems like the kind of guy who’d brush his teeth obsessively).

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Yeah.”

Midorima pouts. Damn, that’s hot (no wonder he can get away with it). Not that Kise is any slouch in the looks department, either. His ass looks unreasonably fine in the uniform pants, and his arms are well-toned and he’s got very nice hands, well-shaped and probably manicured, too.

“Stop staring,” says Midorima. “Can I trust you to light the Bunsen burner?”

“Jealous?”

Midorima huffs. Cute, cute, cute. That’s really the only reason he comes to class anymore—even if Midorima’s a nag and Kise will probably blow them up by putting dangerous chemicals together, he can’t really pass up the opportunity to spend time around guys who look like this.

* * *

 

19\. Shibazaki Haruka/Hamura, new neighbors AU for didsw

There’s finally a new family next door; the house has stood empty for a few years other than periodic realty showings that never end up anywhere—Hamura’s long-since given up on another kid his own age moving in or even anyone, but his father had mentioned moving trucks outside the place yesterday and his mother is always looking for new potential customers so they don’t give their son a choice and they’re all going over with a fruit basket (even though only one of them needs to carry it).

There’s a man sitting on the porch and smoking; he gives them a wave and introduces himself as Shibazaki Kenjirou. He and Hamura’s parents are exchanging stupid pleasantries and Hamura’s arms are going numb from holding the heavy basket and he wantsto just go back home until Shibazaki mentions his children.

“I have three of them. My oldest is about your age, I think. She’s ten.”

Hamura nods. He doesn’t know too many girls—most of the ones at school keep to themselves and aren’t too into fighting anime or chemistry sets (well, most guys aren’t into the second one, either) and even though most of his friends are noticing girls as pretty or cute or desirable in some way he isn’t, really (that one time Honda from the other class had a crush on him was scary to say the least), but at the very least maybe she’ll take the fruit basket out of his hands and she’ll be a little bit less boring than his parents are.

Shibazaki lets them in and finally finds a place for Hamura to put the basket, goes into the kitchen and returns with three kids—the younger two can’t even be school-age yet, hiding behind their father’s legs, but the oldest introduces herself but Hamura’s barely listening because now he knows what his friends talk about when they say a girl is pretty—it’s not that she has any particular defining features but there’s something about her that makes him want to hold his breath.

This is better than he expected.

* * *

 

20\. Aomine Daiki/Yamazaki Sousuke, pretending to hate each other AU for didsw

“You like Yamazaki,” says Satsuki.

“He’s an asshole,” says Aomine.

He’s not lying; Yamazaki’s kind of got a twisted worldview with himself at the center of it all and he says shitty things and does shittier things, something Satsuki would be all-too-quick to point out is sort of like the pot calling the kettle black. But there’s still something about Yamazaki—something that he doesn’t want to like. But not wanting to like something is different from actually disliking it, and even when he tries very hard Yamazaki gives him a look with those pretty eyes of him and it’s just kind of—well, damn.

At least Yamazaki’s in the same boat; he tries to give Aomine a look of disdain that is actually more like a look of interest and whenever they fuck he talks about how much he hates him like he’s trying to enforce it inside his head. He’s incredibly unlikeable but Aomine finds himself unable to resist—and he’s not even that upset about it.

* * *

 

21\. Nishino Kimi/Nishio Nishiki, sitting on a park bench AU for didsw

He’s been glancing over at her for the past half-hour, thinking he’s so sly and discreet—it would be funnier if it wasn’t kind of pathetic; he’s obviously interested but every time it seems as if he’s worked up the courage to say something, every time his mouth trembles like he’s going to speak, he turns away again instead. He’s actually kind of cute, though; he’s got a well-built figure and his hair looks soft and she’s been looking so much at his mouth that she’s begun to really start appreciating the way he purses it when he’s shutting himself up (he probably says a lot of stupid shit; most people do but he might say more than the usual amount—her intuition isn’t usually wrong about those things). He looks at her and then, once again, away.

“Are you ever going to say anything or do I have to?”

He looks startled for a moment and then composes himself, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. She leans back against the bench. Yeah, he’s pretty cute.

* * *

 

22\. Twelve/Nine librarian/avid reader AU for didsw

“Ah,” says Nine, peering up at the highest shelf. “They’ve moved the philosophy section.”

This is most likely a lie. He’s never been wrong about the sections before, knows the library the way Twelve knows the contours of his back walking in front of him, the directed motion and straight posture, after countless book requests, each one more obscure than the next (all of which Nine had found for him, which Twelve knew he would because he’d made sure the books were checked in beforehand). He’d planned this, the long walk to the deserted and dusty corner of the library—Nine’s sly, more than Twelve gives him credit for.

The long walk was worth it for that kiss.

* * *

 

23\. Takao Kazunari/Momoi Satsuki, high school reunion AU for didsw

Going to the ten-year reunion was a dumb idea, she decides as she approaches the doors—Shutoku is exactly the same, maybe a little bit more worn out, and all the horrible memories of high school are flooding back to her, sitting in the back row where she couldn’t see and working herself too hard between school and basketball, the perpetual humidity of the gym and washing her hoodie once a week because it got soaked with sweat, and—other things, things that she would probably do better not to remember.

And there he is, standing in the hallway, checking his phone—it’s definitely him (she hadn’t checked who would be there because she didn’t know whether seeing his name or not seeing it would make her want to go less). He can’t pretend not to see her, even as a courtesy; she knows those hawk eyes too well, has asked him to utilize them on the court too many times—they are still brilliant as they meet hers, and she has to fight to keep a steady gaze. But she does.

He smiles, and the sound of her footsteps is irrelevant as she crosses the distance between them.

Maybe it wasn’t such a dumb idea.

* * *

 

24\. Midorima Shintarou/Takao Kazunari, lab partners au for anon

Sometimes abnormalities happen, things that Midorima would consider outside the realm of possibility—Oha-Asa being wrong (it’s only ever happened once and sometimes Midorima doubts his memory of the day), his sister losing her first tooth and sobbing uncontrollably the one day he has to babysit her, and meeting someone who’s better at biology than he is.

It’s supposed to be a good thing, learning from him, but it’s frustrating—no matter how much he studies for biology, no matter how sure he is that he’s going to be more prepared this week his lab partner is always a few steps ahead. It’s the aggravating conflict between genius and diligence; Takao isn’t even particularly interested in science but he has a sort of intuition for dissecting things, slicing them like a born surgeon (the naturalness that Midorima hopes to someday have but isn’t sure there’s enough in him to cultivate him) and writing up crisp lab reports, never missing a detail. He has a knack for fishing around inside the plants and animals to bring out the correct vein or group of cells, like he’s got some kind of supervision or something.

And what makes it worse is how utterly persistent he is—he seems to think of Midorima as a friend. Or, more accurately, Midorima somehow ended up being an object of his affections, both physical and verbal, and it makes him uncomfortable sometimes that Takao’s breath is on his neck when they’re peering over the microscope or Takao’s hand has stayed on his shoulder for almost an entire minute—it’s weird; his stomach clenches and his clothes itch on his body and everything is uncomfortable.

* * *

 

25\. Midorima Shintarou/Akashi Seijuurou, exes meeting again AU for midliner

Akashi Seijuurou has aged gracefully to say the least; he carries himself with the same confidence but it’s as if the weight on his shoulders has lessened somehow. His hair, which Midorima had thought would have gone grey by now, is still a vibrant red, and his eyes spark—even in this sterile hospital fluorescence he does not look washed out or washed up, rather he is every inch the prodigy who has exceeded such high expectations, who has come into his own as a man.

(His left ring finger is bare; he almost flaunts the hand at his side, as if he’s daring Midorima to look at it.)

“You look well,” Akashi says, traces of a smile showing around his lips.

Midorima supposes that in the scheme of things he is rather well; he’s got a stable job and a nice apartment with the mortgage paid off and respect from his colleagues and a healthy diet and a fitness plan that he manages to adhere to strictly despite the long, odd hours he works.

“I am, thank you,” he replies. “So do you.”

“It’s a bit easier to manage things now that my father is retired.”

Midorima’s surprise is clearly evident to Akashi, who raises an eyebrow.

“You haven’t been keeping up with the news? I’m surprised at you, Shintarou.”

Midorima swallows. What can he say, the truth? That he’s been avoiding the business section of the paper for years because he’s afraid of opening it to see Akashi’s face, Akashi’s name—even when the company isn’t mentioned it’s always been obvious to him which deals have been done with the Akashi family in mind or using other companies as puppets or fronts (and as much as Seijuurou is loath to admit it he operates very similarly to his father)? That even after ten years he is still afraid? That even after ten years, seeing Akashi in person has upset the delicate emotional balance that Midorima has spent years cultivating?

“Seijuurou, I—”

Akashi cuts him off with a raised hand. “I know.”

He pulls out a pen and business card and writes something on the back of the card, presenting it to Midorima.

“This is the address of my hotel. I’ll be in Sapporo until the end of the week.”

* * *

 

26\. Imayoshi Shouichi/Sakurai Ryou, boss/intern AU for anon

Susa calls Sakurai his pet project, and sometimes Imayoshi thinks it’s a rather accurate description, at least more than Susa knows. Like when Sakurai’s under his desk sucking him off and Imayoshi’s whispering how good of a boy he is (and for someone who stutters as much as Sakurai he’s awfully good with his tongue and jaw) even when he really doesn’t mean it; it’s worth it for the moments when Sakurai pouts and affirms himself after Imayoshi kisses his come-stained lips (it’s amusing to say the least). Or when they’re having lunch with a client and one of Imayoshi’s hands is under the table on Sakurai’s thigh and his voice quakes more than usual and he apologizes afterward like a desperate puppy. Or when he makes Sakurai beg for release on his knees, bound with Imayoshi’s ties and whimpering. Yes, he’s definitely Imayoshi’s favorite intern, to say the least.

* * *

 

27\. Nebuya Eikichi/Hara Kazuya, fake relationship AU for eternalelysium

There’s definitely something insulting about being called “probably the person my parents would least want me to date”, but Nebuya’s going to give Hara the benefit of the doubt here. After all, the point is pissing off his parents, something he apparently relishes, and as long as Nebuya gets free food out of it he doesn’t mind too terribly.

“You want to practice?” says Hara, snapping his gum.

“Practice what?”

“Couple stuff.” He grins.

And even if this is an elaborate ruse for Hara to get into Nebuya’s pants it’s still a pretty damn good deal.

* * *

 

28\. Imayoshi Shouichi/Momoi Satsuki, partners in crime AU for anon

Shouichi whistles as he cooks, providing a very pleasant background to the dull dial tone and the voices of impatient people on the other end of the line and the scratch of Satsuki’s ballpoint pen against the paper. Asking people for their information is the easiest way to get it, even bank account numbers and the answers to their security questions—a surprising amount are this naïve and trusting and she feels almost a little bit guilty by how easy it is. But if it isn’t her, it’ll be someone else siphoning off a few hundred thousand yen here and there, and she might as well take advantage of that trust before someone else destroys it. She’s more than fulfilled the daily quota she’s set for herself, so she finally sets down her pen—there’s no use in working herself too hard when she needs to be at her sharpest tomorrow, is there?

She puts down the pen and stretches her hand; it’s beginning to cramp up. Damn.

“Finished yet?”

Shouichi’s leaning against the doorway, lazy smirk on his face.

“I don’t suppose you’re done cooking?”

“I reckon you don’t appreciate how long it takes to make a nice fish stew,” he says.

“I’m sure I’ll show my appreciation well enough,” she replies.

“You know,” he says, advancing toward her, “If you’re offering, I might take you up on that.”

She catches his slim hands in hers, pulls him down into her lap. He’s heavy, but not too much for her to handle, and she slides their joined hands down his sides and rest them on his hips.

“You ready?”

* * *

 

29\. Kise Ryouta/Midorima Shintarou, teacher/single parent AU for anon

“Midorima-san, can we talk?”

Midorima blinks. “Of course.”

Kise smiles softly at him, a well-tempered and beautiful smile like something out of the pages of a magazine—he looks like a model, white teeth and cat eyes, and what a guy like that is doing teaching elementary school instead of having his face plastered on billboards Midorima isn’t sure (all he knows is that smile makes something in his stomach very unsteady).

“Is everything alright with Yoriko? She’s not acting out or anything, is she?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” he says, waving his hands. “Rather, Yoriko-chan is concerned about you.”

“What?”

“She’s seemed upset lately, so I asked her if everything was alright and she said that she was worried about you, that you work yourself too hard and that you don’t have any friends. I know this might not be strictly professional, but I’m here for you if you need anything. After all, you’re a very integral part in helping your daughter succeed in school.”

Midorima’s had numerous conversations with his daughter about his social life, or lack thereof—but he’s tried to explain to her that it’s hard to make friends when you’re in your mid-thirties and a single parent with a household to take care of, and too many times she’s come away thinking it’s her fault when he wouldn’t trade her for any amount of friends in the world. Yoriko shouldn’t have dragged anyone else into this—but then he looks back at Kise’s concerned face, the beautiful mouth, the fluttering hands. She likes Kise; she’s told Midorima that he’s a very good teacher—and he cares; Midorima finds himself relieved knowing that there’s someone out there who cares this much about Yoriko’s well-being and happiness.

“Kise-sensei, I…thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Yoriko-chan is a wonderful student to have, so bright and a wonderful classmate. You’ve done a really good job with her, Midorima-san.”

Midorima can barely think, let alone speak.

“So if you need anything, give me a call, okay? I gave Yoriko-chan a piece of paper with my contact information, and I’m sure if you ask for it she’ll give it to you. Is that okay?”

Midorima nods blankly. It’s more than okay.

* * *

 

30\. Citrus (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia)

As long as Tatsuya’s known her Alex has used a particular lemon-scented hand lotion; she’s always smelled like citrus but it was a couple of years before he saw her rubbing her hands cracked from the dry air all over until they shone, and it was a section of time too long for him to count before he began to help her with it, massage it into her skin gently and feel her fingers curl around his as she’d sigh softly and turn her head to look at him.

His hands smell faintly like her all morning.

* * *

 

31\. Away (Imaizumi Shunsuke/Aoyagi Hajime)

Away from the pack, they race against each other, the sounds of their breathing stolen by the wind and the scenery flying by. They don’t need to talk and they don’t need to look at each other to feel the way they’re going on this road, the intensity of the turns and the quick changes from rougher terrain to smooth, to keep pace with each other and after a while it’s not a race anymore or at least it doesn’t feel like it. It’s just the two of them, out here alone with the elements and their bikes and their emotions that saturate the air with their weight and magnitude and complexity. They’ll reach the point where they’re sore and tired and it’s getting dark and they can’t keep their emotions close to their chests anymore and they’ll reach for each other as they make their way back and holding hands will be just enough to tide them over until they’re really alone again—but for now they have the wind and each other’s presence and that will suffice.

* * *

 

32\. Shutter (Takao Kazunari/Sakurai Ryou)

Takao brandishes his phone like a weapon; the click of the camera’s shutter is like the firing of bullets and Sakurai can’t help but flinch.

“Aww, come on, Ryou-chan,” says Takao, pulling him closer, a firm arm around his waist and warm breath on his cheek. “It’s just a camera.”

All of this paralyzes him, too much to even breathe an apology and Takao clicks the shutter once more. In the picture, neither one of them is smiling and it looks surprisingly candid for something with as much of a setup as this. They look close; they look real; Sakurai smiles at Takao.

Takao smiles back and clicks the shutter again. He uploads this one to his social media accounts, but he uses the first one as his phone background.

* * *

 

33\. Expectation (Touka/Yoriko)

The expectation is that they’ll be friends, more than just regular friends in their devotion, but friends nonetheless, content behind their borders like small patches in a garden. The expectation is when someone says “girlfriend” in this context that they mean it in this way, an unnecessary division along the lines of gender and it’s so—casual in a way they aren’t. The expectation is that they’ll fade into this casual form as they get older, will grow apart after high school and perhaps fondly reminisce but never regain this closeness.

“But I don’t want that,” Yoriko says, clutching Touka’s hand harder, staring at her with more intensity than the deepest hunger that has sought to tear out Touka’s insides.

And there are still things between them that have not been explored, still ugly secrets that will have to force their way to the surface, people and things that will try to tear them apart, but the tightness of Yoriko’s grip makes Touka believe that maybe they will weather it anyway—no one would confuse her for a blind optimist but somehow Yoriko’s belief is so strong it sucks her in, too.

* * *

 

34\. Lurk (Haizaki Shougo/Midorima Shintarou)

Even though he’s lived in the apartment for six months Shougo still lurks; he doesn’t fit naturally on the couch or the bed or even standing, somehow ill-at-ease even though he’s relaxed, messy, making himself at home. It’s an odd conundrum, one that Shintarou can’t and won’t express in words, and he gets the feeling that Shougo knows but doesn’t want him to say anything anyway.

He’s beginning to blend in right sometimes, when he pours scalding hot coffee into mugs on weekend mornings and doesn’t burn himself when it splashes up, gripping the curve of the bathroom doorknob when he gets up to take a piss at night, when he’s still half-asleep and always finds himself nestling into Shintarou’s chest, when he gives himself breathing room and sheds the disaffected airs he always puts on and really, genuinely doesn’t care (except for the things he does care about, like sapping body heat from Shintarou). Neither of them is particularly patient, but they’ll be able to wait this out.

* * *

 

35\. Revenge (Amon Koutarou/Suzuya Juuzou)

Amon’s hell-bent on some sort of revenge, willing to throw away everything for it even though he doesn’t really understand it (and resents his own misunderstanding, which he’s very aware of). It’s not particularly attractive in any sort of way—it doesn’t make him glamorous or dashing or even really pitiable. It makes him all the more mundane, honestly—but because it’s Amon it’s not and Juuzou can’t really explain it any more than that. Maybe because a guy who can look like that and yet hold his hands so carefully and delicately and be sincere in each way is naturally fascinating and Juuzou can’t look away from the changes in his face and his posture and the way he’s thinking; it’s not quite like there are two of him (and that, too, would be entirely too boring) because they’re too closely connected. And there’s a proper time and place for thinking about this sort of thing—now is neither of those; now the only thing that really matters is how much he wants Amon, all sides of him.

* * *

 

36\. Steel (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya)

Tatsuya punches a steel beam hard enough to make his whole fist swell, swears loudly, words empty and beautiful face desperate and Shuuzou doesn’t know if he wants to hit him or hook his arm around him so he just crosses his arms and then Tatsuya bites back another shout; his hand is clearly throbbing and he can’t close it into a fist and how the fuck is he going to play ball like this? He works his ass off and then sabotages himself because he’s too angry and impulsive and it’s almost too much to bear (at least it’s summer and there are no coaches to yell at him and no teams to let down because he was only thinking of himself again).

“You’re a dumbass,” Shuuzou says (he feels his voice about to crack).

“I know.”

(He spends the next week learning how to play one-handed¸ winning most of his matches and enough money to buy both of them dinner every night and he won’t let Shuuzou say know and Shuuzou kisses each swollen knuckle after the sun goes down and they stand outside the restaurant tucked inside a propped-open service entrance near an alley.)

* * *

 

37\. Inevitable (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya)

Shuu’s father cries through almost the whole wedding ceremony; his mother looks shocked but he loudly reminds her that the treatments he’s gone through have been so undignified that it’s meaningless to put up pretensions and anyway he doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this happy and honestly Tatsuya doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this happy, either; it’s like his feet have been weighed down by ten-ton boots but he’s managed to leap off the ground anyway (and being with Shuu sometimes feels like running off a cliff in one of those old cartoons only they haven’t realized that there’s nothing under their feet yet and he waits for it to hit them but it never does). It’s like no matter what he does he can’t shake the smile from his face, and after a while he just stops trying—it’s inevitable, really (the wine helps, but only a little).

There’s a faint sort of clacking sound when Shuu comes from behind and locks their fingers together and the gold bands knock against one another—he did that on purpose, but really Tatsuya has nothing to accuse him of. (Indulgence, maybe? But it pales in comparison to the rest of this day.) And he’s never enjoyed Shuu’s face buried in his hair as much, or being pressed against Shuu’s warm body even on a hot day like today in these outfits that don’t breathe, or the way Shuu says his name, as much as he does right now, closes his eyes and lets it wash over him.

* * *

 

38\. Scar (Seto Kentarou/Momoi Satsuki)

Kentarou traces the scar on Satsuki’s knee beneath the sheets with his eyes closed; even without looking he can feel it and there’s something about the smoothness of the raised flesh under his fingertips, the sighs she makes (because he does this nearly every night), the way she twists sometimes to give him easier access—and then he kisses her forehead when it’s in reach (sometimes when she does not twist so far he ends up with his mouth buried in her soft hair and he doesn’t mind that much either).

* * *

 

39\. Grasp (Imaizumi Shunsuke/Naruko Shoukichi)

Naruko grasps at things he can’t fully understand like fish in the water with his bare hands, but somehow he ends up holding onto them anyway because he keeps trying and the law of averages is in his favor. Somehow he’s managed to grasp onto Imaizumi (literally, too; one of these days his fingers are going to leave bruises on Imaizumi’s wrists and he’s having a hard enough time covering up and explaining the hickeys, thank you very much) and pull at him until he’s come undone, until they’re tangled together like headphones in someone’s pocket. It’s too much trouble to figure out how to unwind himself, so he might as well enjoy it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> .....so i'm beginning to catchup to the backlogs


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